


Bonded

by viflow



Series: Why does it have to be a Sin? [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst like a lot of angst - Freeform, Canon Diverge, M/M, Pinning Uhtred - Freeform, Season 3 episode 9 related - Freeform, Uhtred in love - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viflow/pseuds/viflow
Summary: “It is a chronicle.”Uhtred’s fingers stilled over the page but his head snapped back toward that painfully missed voice. His heart skittered to a stop and his whole body froze for a long second as Alfred’s familiar form appeared in the shadow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was totally and utterly heartfelt and surprised by this scene between Uhtred and Alfred. If you take in all the subtexts, I can say, their love for eachother was very well almost canon. But what inspired me to write this were those few words of Alfred's before he died, and his hand reached out for... Uhtred? "My England. My Love." And with it, the producers gave us a big chance for a romantic fanfic.
> 
> So, this is how far I got, but I wanted to post it before I lost or deleted it by accident as it's my due.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> The last Kingdom and it's characters and the dialogues in this fic, (so far) belong to Netflix and to Bernard Cornwell.

“It is a chronicle.”

Uhtred’s fingers stilled over the page but his head snapped back toward that painfully missed voice. His heart skittered to a stop and his whole body froze for a long second as Alfred’s familiar form appeared in the shadow.

“The pages.” Alfred explained, moving forward.

After weeks of frustration in trying to convince himself that he didn’t care anymore, after all the fruitless denial, the first glimpse of Alfred's face nearly brought Uhtred to his knees.

Not for his life being able to tear his eyes away, Uhtred's gaze slowly wandered over Alfred's face. There were deep, dark circles under Alfred's eyes, and those once sharp, clever eyes were lifeless, dull and sunken.

A horrible feeling started to crawl into Uhtred's chest, and something sour and thick knotted in his throat.

But when Alfred stepped closer, and his eyes sought and met Uhtred's gaze, his eyes alighted and that terrible bluntness cracked, and once again, his gaze gleamed with that same intensity Uhtred was used to. The one Uhtred was a helpless sucker for. The very one, what always made Uhtred just a bit weak in his knees. And when as so many times before, their eyes locked, Uhtred’s breath stuttered in his chest, making him unable to speak, unable to move, unable to do anything but let himself drown in those eyes.

“It is a chronicle of Wessex.” Alfred said, slowly closing the distance between them and stepping beside him at the table.

The storm of emotions brewing inside Uhtred— cracking the protective shell around his heart— told him that he definitely wasn’t quite as indifferent and quite as done with a certain King of Wessex as he wanted himself to be.

Breaking their eye contact, Alfred’s eyes snapped towards the books on the table—and Uhtred could breath again. “It will include my life as king...” Alfred explained further, taking in small, shallow breathes before he continued, “from the moment of my brother's death until now. Songs of a kind.”

Uhtred knew, he should say something, he should answer in some kind, but as it was, he just lost the ability to speak. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. But his eyes didn’t rest, they were roaming hungrily over Alfred’s face, drinking him in, then skimming down and over the rest of his form.

The changes wrought by Alfred’s illness was like a kick to Uhtred’s gut. 

The last time he'd seen Alfred, he’d looked unwell—thinner and frailer—but this was something else altogether. He’d lost even more weight, and now he was shrunk to skin and bones. He wasn’t so much wearing his clothes than he was all but disappearing inside them. He looked achingly frail, like a strong wind might carry him away. His face was gaunt, and in the sunlight that broke through the window, his shallow skin had a papery, almost white look over the achingly sharp cheekbones. And Uhtred could see how badly Alfred’s fingers trembled as they rested over the pages.

The dramatic physical changes chilled every bone in Uhtred’s body.

_Hell, they terrified him._

And despite the roaring fire in the heart, Uhtred's skin felt like ice as a cold shiver ran down spine. And for the first time, since Alfred’s sickness took the turn for the worst, he realized, that this time Alfred wasn’t going to recover from it. He hadn’t actually believed that until now. But now, that he did, he felt like a heavy stone crushed down his chest.

_He was going to loose Alfred._

And just how close he was to that was cruelly staring right back at him.

Something in Uhtred sank, and all he could think about was to wrap Alfred in his arms. He wanted to hold and cradle that painfully thin body against his. Wanted to savor the warmth of Alfred’s body while he still could. Wanted to hide his face into Alfred’s neck and breathe him in deep, smothering his senses with that unique, quietly seductive, clean, male smell that always clung to Alfred’s skin, his clothes, his hair. 

He wanted to do all of it, and he wanted to do it —badly—even as those unexpected, sudden needs, shocked and scarred him to shit.  
  
He clenched his hands at his side and bit the inside of his cheek so he didn't give in and close the distance between their bodies. But then, as it was the dynamic of their relationships, Alfred’s next words made it easier to resist.

“None of which will mention Uhtred of Bebbanburg.” Alfred declared, meeting Uhtred’s gaze again, the first spark of that old challenge blaring in his brilliant brown eyes.

Swamped with the swirl of his emotions, Uhtred turned away.

“Men will remember what I have done.” Shrugging, he retorted when he finally could push the words through the construction in his throat.

“But men will die, as we all must.” Alfred’s voice, coated with sadness and resolve, riposted behind Uhtred’s back. “These pages will remain. The act of committing ink to parchment gives a deed permanence.”

“If it is not burned.” Uhtred countered dryly, turning to face Alfred again.

“If it is preserved, yes. And in one hundred years from now, learned people will read or recite what is written, and Alfred will appear. They will know nothing of the Lord Uhtred...” Alfred said, lifting his eyes from the table to lock them with Uhtred’s.

 _Even now, the son of a bitch, enjoys this._ Uhtred thought with an equal mix of resentment and amusement, trying hard to ignore the roaring in his ears from that startling intensity that was still packed behind Alfred’s gaze.

“Nor of your loyalty...” Alfred started, and with that, he turned and walked toward the window as he continued. “Advice... Bravery... Courage...” and when he added, the tiny curl at the corner of his mouth was almost fond, “and Insolence.”

Uhtred turned away from Alfred, because he felt, If he stared any longer, he was going to loose it and do something... Something really stupid. His eyes snapped back to the table, gazing over and pondering at the drawings in that damn book, that mentioned and showed him everywhere-- in every page, as if he were some kind of hero out of a bard’s tale. As if he could slay dragons and even hang the moon-- and not mentioned him at all.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, telling himself it was annoyance he felt. Only annoyance.

“Why are you here?”Alfred’s question cut through the air, almost as sharp as a knife behind Uhtred's back.

He turned and stared at Alfred, wide-eyed. “In Winchester?”

“In this room.”

That surprised him. “I was told you wished to speak.”

The sudden aggression in Alfred’s words, threw Uhtred aback. “Why grant me that wish? What is it you want from me? What is it you would say to me, while I am still able to listen?”

Maybe he shouldn’t know, but in his core, on some unexplainable instinct, Uhtred knew, where these questions came from. He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, then without his permission, the words were stumbling out of his mouth.

“If I were to say one thing, it would be that I could never have killed you. When I held the knife to your throat, I could never have taken your life.” A small, discerning noise forced itself out before it caught in the back of his throat. “I would have beaten you, gladly....” he said, voice thin but firm, steady and teasing, despite the terrible, disturbing emotions tightening his chest. Despite the fact, that it was the truth. At the time he would've gladly delivered more punches into Alfred's smug, haughty face, if he had more time. Because he was hurt and angry and frustrated at Alfred's injustice and treatment. Whatever. He refuses to apologize for that. “But I would never be the man who killed Alfred...” his voice rose with a kind of reverence, he didn’t even know he possessed, ”-- King of Saxons.”

Alfred froze for a long second, then sent Uhtred a disbelieving but meaningful look. “Killing me would have earned you a place in these pages.”

Uhtred’s heart twisted and ached with something he couldn’t even name. “I would not want such a deed written.” He said with a sudden struck of truth. Then he thought about everything he just saw, “Besides, I've earned my place in these pages.” He declared with an arrogance— that was expected of him, then added with a nonchalance— that he didn’t really feel. ”But every lord is the hero of his own songs. I understand my absence.”

At that, Alfred turned his eyes away and said words, Uhtred never thought he’d ever hear from those lips.

“It will not be written that Alfred did stand on Uhtred's shoulders.” Alfred admitted, rendering Uhtred speechless, because he knew, what it took for this stubborn, prideful man to say those words. ”Many times.” Alfred closed his eyes and his voice shook when he added. “But I know it to be true.”

Uhtred’s heart squeezed, then soared high at that painful confession. He didn’t know how he could manage it, but he gave a brief, distant nod.

“Thank you, Lord.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the three-quarter of this chapter is actually canon-ish, the last of it is where I took the liberty to make this scene into a fic. :-)

Then suddenly, Alfred grabbed his sword and slowly advanced on Uhtred.

A sharp, prickly feeling arched through Uhtred's body, a warrior instinct suiting up for a fight. He twitched with the need to move, but forced himself to stay put where he stood, his gaze never wavering from Alfred’s face.

Alfred’s lips were trembling, but the hands grabbing the handle of the swords were steady and determined. His eyes blazed, dark and deadly and his thin, wiry body shook with tension. With a few paces he reached Uhtred and pointed the tip of his sword at the hollow of Uhtred’s throat.

“Do you believe I could end your life? You are an outlaw.” Alfred asked, breathing heavily, his eyes flashing dark fire at Uhtred. Then he looked at him for a long, uncomfortable moment before fiercely added, “It would be written that Alfred, frail and sick, did find the strength to slay the warrior Uhtred Ragnarson.”

 _Oh, that’s what it's all about_ , Uhtred thought with an inner smile. And though he never, not for a second believed that Alfred would or could go through with it, he couldn’t help the flicker of anger. But now, that he understood where it all came from, even that dissipated in a heartbeat. Then, slowly, something entirely different started welling in his chest, something softer, warmer, stretching and pooling until his whole inside was wrapped in it.

His eyes, still locked with Alfred’s, softened, and his voice came out gentle, “That will not happen.” he declared.

“Because I lack the will?” Alfred snarled, his voice trembling, but dangerous. His hands were still steadily grabbing the handle, the tip of the sword still close enough to Uhtred’s throat that half an inch would have it presssed into and pierce Uhtred’s skin. And though, Alfred's face was the very picture of certainty and action, his eyes... his eyes though... Well, they told an entirely different story. Grief, despair, wounded pride and... hesitancy were brewing in them—and something else, Uhtred couldn’t quite name.

“Because we are bonded.” Uhtred answered, his voice calm and firm, and even as he spoke, a kind of realization began to dawn, making him wonder, how in the hell, he didn’t realize it— until this moment— how fucking true it was. “You cannot kill me, just as I cannot kill you.”

Alfred regarded him silently for a long moment, with a complicated look passing over his face. Something split between shock and painful understanding. Then he huffed out an exasperated, disbelieving noise. His sword clattered loud as it was slowly lowered until the tip touched the ground.

A slow heat bloomed underneath Uhtred's ribs, but in the next second it was quickly replaced with a bolt of panic, when Alfred’s body hunched itself in pain and his hands clutched at his stomach.

Uhtred’s heart wrenched. His body twitched and unconsciously swayed forward-- but in the last second he caught himself, and didn’t go there. He knew, Alfred was too stubborn--too proud-- to accept his help.

“My sword is heavy.” Alfred breathed heavily, his voice shaking, his hand trembling as he placed his sword over a chair.

Seeing the pain that crawled across Alfred’s face, felt like a knife between Uhtred’s ribs. It took pretty much every ounce of willpower he had to not reach out and pull Alfred into his chest. His fingers itched with how badly he wanted to stroke them over Alfred’s face to soothe away the pain. The muscles tensed in his arms from how badly he wanted to wrap them around Alfred, and hold him, until Alfred’s suffering lessened, until his terrible shaking eased. Knowing it wasn’t something he could or was allowed to do, he curled his fingers into the belt of his jacket to stop himself from doing just so, and he just stood there helpless with a sinking feeling in his chest.

A strangled noise tore himself out of Alfred’s throat as a horrible shudder wracked through his frame. Then his whole body tensed against another wave of pain, his thin chest rose and fell with his shaky breathes. ”I must sit.” He said in a weak, wheezing voice. “There is wine in the jug, if you would pour it.” he gestured shakily at the jug on the table.

Grabbing the vine jug, Uhtred’s fingers clutched around it until his knuckles turned white from the force, trying to swallow down the knot burning in his throat. While pouring wine into two cups, he took in a long, deep breath, then another, and another, trying to ease the ache and tightness that clutched his chest, like a hand of a giant was crushing everything underneath his ribs. When he felt like his body was under careful control again, schooling his expression, his mask was firmly on it’s place when he turned from the table. And when a second later he handed Alfred one of the cups-- not a hint of how shaken and despaired he felt, was showing on his face.

He lifted his cup, “For Edward and his bride.” He said, surprising even himself, how strong and firm his voice sounded. He even managed a small smile. “May they be well.”

“May God protect them.” Alfred said, raising his own cup.

Not taking his eyes off Alfred’s face, not for a second, Uhtred watched with some kind of relief, that once he’d drunk his fill, Alfred’s breathing seemed to ease. Then resting for a second, Alfred placed his cup on the table and began to talk again.

“I say ‘may God protect them,’ but God often works through men.” He paused for a second before added, “He has worked through you in the past.” Then lifting his head, he met Uhtred's gaze. ”I know it.” Alfred uttered, but his words were imbued with a rich mix of emotions; awe, adoration, pride, disbelief and melancholy at once. “No man alone could break the shield wall as you did at Ethandun.”

Uhtred’s whole body went still for a second, then he swallowed at the burning emotions in Alfred’s gaze. Those knowing, clever eyes were glimmering, almost black, till Alfred veiled the emotion in them with a down sweep of his thick lashes.

And Uhtred just kept staring helplessly at him, trying not to betray how deeply Alfred’s words affected him. Deeper than he could bring even himself to admit. Then he let out a long sigh.

“I am heathen, Lord.” He pointed out.

“You are baptized.” Alfred countered.

Uhtred sent Alfred an incredulous look. “I believe in the old gods.” he emphasized, with a flicker of irritation now.

A sad expression clouded Alfred’s face. "The devil, too, works through men.” He started. ”My death will bring the devil in some men to the fore. Even good men will be tempted by greed, power— glory—even.”

Huffing out a noise, a tiny, amused smile touched the corner of Uhtred’s mouth even as he shook his head. He looked away for a second, then looked back at Alfred.

 _Here we go,_ he thought.

He wasn’t surprised, in truth, he was waiting for this. Because he knew, better than anyone, that Alfred never did anything without a reason. Not a single word left ever Alfred’s mouth, not a single gesture ever moved his body without a meticulously planed reason behind. He knew Alfred wanted something of him, just as much as he knew, that most likely, he was going to say yes, like the complete, sappy fool that he was.

When he first met Alfred, he’d seen only a weak, gray, shallow, not too clever, supercilious aristocrat with a perpetual haughty, stoic, cool expression on his face, as though he was devoid of any feelings. But when he looked into those clever, intense eyes ... in that instant he realized, just how wrong his first impression was. However, it still had taken a long time for Alfred’s mask to crack and allow Uhtred a peek, to discover that entirely different person behind it. And even now, till this day, the moments of unreserved happiness or excitement were rare enough on Alfred’s face-- for when it happened-- it always weirdly touched Uhtred to see Alfred like that, and he was caught fast and hooked like a fish; at the mercy at Alfred’s every whim.

It was also only later that Uhtred realized, after learning it the hard way, that he could never out win Alfred at his own game. Planing and strategy was Alfred’s element. He was a master of words and his power lied in the perfect manipulation of others. He had a gift for it, a born instinct to see through people and sense their real nature. His frighteningly clever, incredibly brilliant mind was like a trap. And if he made his mind up about something, he planned everything systematically out to the smallest details. 

For Alfred, people were only a means to an end. He played them like they were puppets and he the one pulling the strings. With a ruthless streak he found people’s weak spots, and exploited them. And then with a shark like success, he benned them-- the ones, he considered useful to his needs-- to his will. Arrogance and entitlement, demand and cajole, wooing and threat, distribution of wealth and gifts, charges of fines and debts; were all used to achieve his ultimate aims.

Just as well, as Uhtred found himself repeatedly manipulated with all those methods by the wily, cunning King.

And though it irritated, angered, frustrated Uhtred to no end at the time when he found himself fallen in one of Alfred’s trap, over the years he came to respect, and maybe a little admire Alfred for it. Even now, just thinking about it, he felt a warm glow of delight unfurling in his chest.

He snorted out a noise, that was almost a laugh. _Wasn’t it a weird, fucked up time to discover that he was actually proud of his King?_

“Christian men?” He asked then, his voice a bit sarcastic around the edges. 

“Ah, yes.”

This time, the corner of Uhtred’s mouth curved into a genuine smile. He couldn't more agree with that. And obviously, he knew by now, how dangerously sharp Alfred was... But— Hell. He never thought, he would live long enough to hear Alfred speaking like that about his Christian fellows.

“They sit in my hall as we speak. They eat my food, they drink my wine and ale, and they raise a cup to the happy pair.” Alfred continued, his tone one part sad, one parts angry and one part mocking. His face closed up, going somewhere Uhtred couldn't follow. There was a far away, distant look in his eyes as he raised his cup again. “May God help them.”

........

Without asking for it, Uhtred sat himself down in the chair across Alfred at the table.

Alfred looked up at him, and that terrible, empty glassiness that coated his gaze again slowly disappeared from his eyes as they fixed on Uhtred’s face. He gave a faint nod in agreement and flashed Uhtred one of his half smiles, both fond and exasperated at the same time.

Uhtred sucked in a breath from the warm ache that spread through his chest from that smile. Then leaning his elbows on the table, he looked down and grabbed his cup, giving himself time to gather his shit together.

When he dared to look up again, it didn't really help that Alfred was looking at him _that way_. The way, Alfred sometimes looked at him, the way that made Uhtred’s heart hammering in his chest, and made him feel completely raw and exposed and naked. Beyond naked. Like his chest has been cracked open. Like every thought, every feelings, every desire he's ever had was just sitting right on Alfred’s open palms.

The warm ache in Uhtred's chest fanned hotter and brighter.

So, after giving his cup another long look, he lifted his head and asked, “Lord, I would like to understand why you brought my children to Winchester...” _because being angry was easier than─ it was just easier,_ “and why you saw fit to have them baptized.” he added, his voice bristling with real anger and resentment now.

Alfred looked uncomfortable for a second, then he looked Uhtred right in his eyes and said, loud and clear, his voice curling with something sharp and mean around the edges. "It was done to damn you. To inflict pain—" his voice dropped and he let out a long sigh, "—possibly.”

Blinking, Uhtred recoiled from those words like he got slapped. A stunned breath left his chest. Staring at Alfred wide eyed, he was trying, _really hard,_ not to deliver a punch into his King's face.

Alfred bowed his head and his gaze dropped to his fumbling hands. He frowned, “I try to make decisions rationally.” He said, with an odd sort of twisted-up expression on his face. He paused, heaved out a shaky sigh then continued. “However, taking your children was not a rational decision.”

Then he was silent for a long moment; the only sound in the room were his laboured breathing and the crackling of the fire. Sitting slump-shouldered, he looked too small for his chair. His head bowed, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze was fixed on his clenched, white-knuckled hands. His mouth was so dry and chapped it was almost bleeding, the long line of his throat fluttered as he swallowed, taking in small, shallow breathes. If it's possible, his face was even paler than before, he looked almost like a ghost. And unable to take his eyes away, Uhtred's heart gave a painful lurch as he just sat there and watched, feeling raw and shaken, his thoughts and feelings in shambles. 

When Alfred looked up at Uhtred again, guilt was etched all over his face. “It was thoughtless.” He paused again, his mouth twisting before he said, " It was selfish.” He broke of again, and when he continued, his eyes were sad, but the corner of his mouth curved into a bleary smile. “They have been treated well” He assured Uhtred quietly.

Uhtred made himself breathe through the messy stew of emotions crowding his throat. He was angry. Yes, he was. He felt his rage curling up cold in the pit of his gut.

And yet, he couldn't help but feel as his fury slowly began to couple with a strange kind of elation, of breathless wonder, excitement, at listening to Alfred admitting his failures. Alfred who hardly ever apologized. More over, Alfred admitting making a decision out of despair, resentment, anger and pitiful spite, defeated and driven by personal feelings-- and not for the greater good of his beloved Kingdom... It was... It was... almost impossible and unheard of and... Big. And Uhtred was sure he should know what it meant, what all of Alfred’s shocking admission today meant... And he felt what he felt once before. Like he was just on the brink of... something. Some sort of realization that was scrapping at the back of his head. Something that felt incredibly important...

But his heart was beating too hard and too fast-- for him to follow that niggling realization to its final conclusion. 

Then Alfred had the audacity to say. “And you are not the best of fathers.” Not quite a rebuke, but not quite not.

Shooting Alfred a disbelieving look, Uhtred made a short, irritated noise, “I was not allowed to be their father. I'm banished.”

“You killed a man inside this palace.” Alfred countered in that imperious tone Uhtred fucking hated. “Though I admit, there was provocation.” He snidely added.

Uhtred huffed out a breath, half a sigh and half annoyance, and kept fixing Alfred with an angry glare.

In response Alfred leveled Uhtred with a flat, unimpressed look for a long moment, then the challenge in his eyes transformed into angst. “And I was wrong in both my judgment and my punishment. I did not give you the respect nor trust—” he took in another shaky breath, ”that you deserved.” He said it all, with a guilty, pained expression. Then his gaze slid away, and his voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I was afraid... I am afraid.”

That hand under Uhtred's ribcage squeezed stronger and tighter.

Alfred’s expression softened at whatever look he saw on Uhtred’s face, and he added quickly and more gently, ”Not of you—” he broke off around something more he didn't say.

Then he continued to speak, his eyes fixed on Uhtred’s face with a fierce fire burning in them, breaking off only to inhale gasping, shallow breathes. “Not of death... But of losing everything that Wessex has become. Everything that is written here in these pages... My work must continue... This land must grow. An England must emerge and God must be praised. We are and we remain the last true Saxon kingdom. We cannot go on building walls between the tribes. Similarly, we cannot be overrun.That would render my time as worthless.”

And Uhtred just sat there listening, and before he’d figure out what to say to all of that, Aelswith entered the room.

...............

Predictably, Aelswith was furious to find him there, sitting across Alfred with a cup of vine at his hands instead of chains. Also predictably, she demanded of Alfred that he get him seized and executed.

Uhtred wasn’t surprised by it. He knew the hypocritical, bloodthirsty bitch wanted him dead from the first moment.

He was also not surprised at the way Alfred put her in her place and took Uhtred’s side against her. After all, it happened many times before, that Alfred deemed him more useful if he lived than to give in to his inflexibly _, deeply religious_ but just as vengeful wife’s request, and put him to death.

He wasn’t even surprised when after Aelswith’s not quite willing departure, Alfred presented him with his pardon. Just like he said, it was Alfred he was speaking of, and Alfred would use everything at his hands, in order to meet his needs.

Maybe he was a bit surprised about at first, even felt touched a little, when Alfred’s pardon wasn’t depending on his staying in Winchester. To help and support Edward until he became a crowned King.

But then it struck Uhtred, and he almost laughed out loud. _Of course, the clever bastard knew him._ And he knew precisely that he wouldn’t get Uhtred’s agreement by simply asking for or arrogantly demanding it. However, if he acted as though he neither expected nor did it really mattered to him anymore if Uhtred stayed or left— if he left the choice entirely to Uhtred and gave Uhtred his pardon regardless of his decision— Uhtred would stay.

And then Alfred reached out and curled his fingers around the back of Uhtred’s tightly clutched hands. 

_And Bloody Hell, but was Uhtred surprised_.

He was more than surprised.

He was shocked.

Because it wasn’t something they did.

They've never.... In all their years together...They’ve never touched eachother.

Alfred’s fingers were cold and brittle as they lingered a little too long over Uhtred’s hands, his thumb slightly stroking over Uhtred’s skin. And Uhtred couldn't breathe as a slow heat started ebbing into him. It was so hot and bright that his toes curled, his throat bobbed and his brain deep fried with it-- making him incredibly confused and incredibly hot, gasping from the sudden burst of want that coiled in his gut like an angry snake.

A phantom itch under his skin told him to let go of Alfred’s hand and run, putting a thousand miles between himself and Alfred before he found himself totally, irrecoverably lost to this-- whatever this was-- but then Alfred spoke.

“I should have closed my eyes and rattled at Heaven's gates some time ago. It was the hope of this meeting that has kept me alive.” he said, his voice slow and sad, his fingers squeezing Uhtred’s hand.

Uhtred’s chest ached, like it has been clawed open from the inside. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back a little, trying to breathe through the almost unbearable pain. When he opened them again and looked at Alfred’s face, he was horrified to feel the stinging in his eyes.

“Alfred,” he muttered, because he couldn’t press anything more through the feel of anguish and sadness that closed up his throat. And when Alfred was about take back his hand, before he realized what he was doing, Uhtred caught Alfred’s wrist, keeping him from pulling it away.

With his heart thudding in his chest, "Alfred” he gasped again.

And he knew he shouldn't touch, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from stroking his thumb over the inside of Alfred’s delicate wrist, feeling the wild, crazy thrum of Alfred's pulse. Then for a long-long second his eyes closed, and when he opened them again, he allowed himself to simply watch. The delicate, fragile line of Alfred’s cheeks, the faint blush that crept up Alfred’s throat and face. The wonder and strange, slightly hazed heat in Alfred’s eyes, and the way his mouth curled into a small, hesitant, almost shy smile.

That warm, bright feeling from before rose again beneath Uhtred's ribs, then it brimmed through his chest, sweet and buttery soft. And somewhere, in the depths of Uhtred's stomach, the _wants_ , unfurling wider and wider was still there. It felt like —oh. _Oh._

Suddenly it hit him all at once, like a lightning bolt out of a clear sky.

He was in fucking love with this man.

......................


End file.
